


la speranza è sempre l'ultima a morire

by defiore



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Non-Canonical Character Death, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, inspired by episode descriptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 09:01:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15069761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defiore/pseuds/defiore
Summary: a fix-it in which deblanc survives his encounter with the saint and endures his own personal hell.





	la speranza è sempre l'ultima a morire

The bus pulled up, coming to a shrieking halt as he turned to face it. A white bus with broad green stripes shooting out from the ‘ _Distant Vistas_ ’ logo. Four windows were lined up on either side, and the driver didn’t glance at them as he opened the small double-doors. There was no way they could have fit the trunk through the doors.

DeBlanc still picked up the handle by habit, though. Fiore had stopped chucking pebbles at some point, he didn’t turn and look back at him to confirm when he stopped, and grabbed the handle along with him. They walked it up to the bus, and Fiore stood back, letting DeBlanc go ahead and give their passes to the driver. The driver denied them access, the oddly familiar “sorry, no carry-ons.”

Despite the déjà vu, he turned to Fiore, who looked defeated and perplexed.

“What about my comics?” He mumbled, avoiding direct eye contact with DeBlanc. His eyes darted around the ground, something he did a lot when he was in a worrying situation. He hated to look someone in the eyes when they denied him something.

It was pure instinct to raise his hand and place it on Fiore’s cheek, resting it there like his face was delicate porcelain. His eyes quit darting for a moment, to raise up to DeBlanc’s level and meet with his own. The lingering gaze was one they shared often, mostly in private, but he wanted to make sure to memorise the look in his eyes before they stepped onto the bus.

Bewilderment, with a hint of contentment.

“It’s alright, my dear. Leave ‘em behind.” DeBlanc spoke as calmly as he could, despite knowing this would be the last time he’d look into his giant blue eyes. While he could feel something was wrong, he knew that there was no way to stop it. Fiore let go of the trunk, and the two filed onto the bus with no further words to each other for the duration of the ride.

* * *

The first things he felt upon opening his eyes again were his arms being tugged and nearly ripped from their sockets and a headache splitting across his forehead. His vision was blurry, he felt nauseous and disoriented and couldn’t place where exactly he was, but had a gut feeling that he wasn’t where he should have been.

He should have been back on the bus, settling onto the rough rubber seat next to Fiore, feeling relieved to know they’d no longer have to destroy Genesis themselves. They could continue their lives quietly until the Saint destroyed Genesis and the preacher, and decide what to do from there. DeBlanc had always wanted to go to the United Kingdom, while Fiore hated the weather and wanted to live in the Netherlands because he loved the canals and the architecture.

DeBlanc would reassure him that there was plenty for him to gawk at in the United Kingdom and that he’d love it, but the angel never agreed on it. He would have been happy to show him pictures of Big Ben and Westminster Abbey but he simply wanted none of it.

But now, he had a strong inkling of his location. Grey, dark, concrete walls, floors, and ceilings, with a massive window on one wall looking out onto a view of tiny flicking lights, and muffled wails of torture. He could barely move his legs, but if he could bring his feet beneath him he would have ran for dear life.

Whoever was dragging him threw him down into a chair, and he was unnecessarily strapped down (like he could move in this state). DeBlanc’s eyelids were lead, fluttering down over his eyes multiple times before they finally remained open. His body ached, and warmth rushed down his forehead. The warmth took a long while to dribble down his nose, across his cheek, and down to his shirt.

“DeBlanc, how foolish of you to come back down here.” A low voice spoke, distorting and weaving through his partially deaf ears. It took him a while to fully perceive who was speaking to him, he was still focused on the warm drip that turned out to be blood. The headache persisted, though the pain felt like it was digging into his frontal lobe.

He tried to look straight up at the figure in the opposite seat, small green dots filling his vision before dispersing and speckling across the cold room. The figure grinned, laughing at DeBlanc’s struggle to just sit up properly and stare at him.

“Quade,” he growled low in his throat. Quade used to report to DeBlanc before he was demoted to a custodian, back when he worked Block 934-D. He was a bit surprised he hadn’t already flown past the 900s, given how determined he was to kiss up to Mannering. “I thought you’d be promoted faster than this.”

Quade chuckled, picking up DeBlanc’s file and smirking. He flipped through the thick stack of pages, glancing through the small, blocky writing.

There had been a warning to all new demons just before they were left to take reign of their Hell blocks. “If you think _this means_ you are **untouchable** , you’re _mistaken_.” Throughout the years, numerous demons tried to cheat the system and escape Hell, but in the end they were all thrown into the Hole. None of them ever returned.

DeBlanc felt the pain in his head finally subside, and the blood stopped drizzling down his nose and cheek. Trying to focus on Quade was hard, especially when he had an overexaggerated, shit-eating grin on his face. He kept his grimace, trying to maintain his composure.

“From a torturer to a custodian. Care to remind me how you got demoted?” He smirked, continuing to flip through the file until he came across a page that made a particularly massive smirk pull at his lips. “Do you remember how you died, DeBlanc?”

He shook his head, not wanting to submit to Quade. Of course, he had absolutely everything there was to know about DeBlanc’s life and his time spent in Hell, but he didn’t want anything to cross his lips. Might as well let Quade tire himself out reading his file like it was the most engrossing book in the universe. Maybe it was, but DeBlanc pushed absolutely every memory of his life out the window, or more accurately, into his subconscious. Everything before Hell, everything before Fiore didn’t matter to him anymore.

Quade began reading off the official record of DeBlanc’s death, and he felt like he’d been tugged underwater, drowning in his past.

* * *

He filed into Mr. Frezza’s office, keeping his shoulders squared and holding his head high. It was unwise to cower before him, or show any form of weakness. This was a known fact amongst everyone on Frezza’s payroll, yet still some pathetic bastards would let their fear get the best of them. When that happened, DeBlanc would be the first to take care of it. He didn’t like to see his colleagues scream in pain and beg him to stop, but at the same time, he didn’t want to be hung from the ceiling and battered with pipes and torched alive.

“What did you do to Alan Ertz?” Was the first thing to come out of his mouth, no greeting, not even a gesture for DeBlanc to sit down.

“I hooked his nipples up to a car battery, like you asked,” he struggled to keep the pitch of his voice low, especially in tense situations. At any moment it’d crack and he’d break the entire façade. “Then I broke his knee caps with a baton.”

Frezza scowled, his eyes locking on DeBlanc’s and furrowing his brow. It put a crease above his nose, while his nostrils scrunched up and his fingers drummed loudly on his desk. He drummed his fingers like that when he was trying to quickly come up with a solution, any solution, but DeBlanc wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done to merit a solution.

“Turns out _someone_ fed me bad intel on him. Now, why would anyone knowingly give me incorrect information about one of my business partners?” He leaned back in his upholstered chair, spinning back and forth. He found a way to make spinning look menacing.

DeBlanc clenched his jaw, before relaxing himself and silently waiting by for a high velocity of pent-up rage to be released.

Frezza finally stood up, walking over to DeBlanc and resting one hand on his shoulder. He didn’t look up at his boss, he looked forward at the desk, the window behind it that looked out over a large pool and well-maintained garden. Outside he could see Tommy and Marco, Frezza’s security guards, walking around the perimeter of the pool, seeming caught up in personal conversation.

“A little birdie told me that you and Alan Ertz fucked. He also told me a little something about you, something you neglected to tell me when I hired you.” Frezza said this close to DeBlanc’s ear, and he tried to mask his fear with indifference. Too little, too late.

“Took you a while.” His eyes glazed over, he wasn’t sure how he managed to take himself out of the situation, but it had been a habit he adopted when he was young. He grinned when he knew Frezza was looking, and before he could process anything, he landed a blow to the back of DeBlanc’s head.

He collapsed to a heap on the ground, picking himself back up in time to get kicked in the stomach with Frezza’s wingtips. One of his ribs snapped after the fourth kick, but despite the shooting pain, DeBlanc managed to pull himself up by the corner of the desk. He caught his shaky breath for a moment, while his boss straightened up and prepared for another threat.

“Normally I wouldn’t beat up a woman, but since you want to pretend you’re a man, this is only fair.” He hit DeBlanc, he crumpled against the desk but kept his grip steady.

Frezza grabbed DeBlanc by his arms and now he let out a tiny whimper, barely audible. The beating continued for ten straight minutes, DeBlanc finally began pleading with Frezza that he’d make it up to him. The pleas went unheard.

The office had a fire place, one that had barely been used in the summer months, but Frezza decided to make use of the fire poker. He picked it up, heavy, weighted, perfect for what he wanted.

He bashed DeBlanc’s head with it, cracking his skull like an egg, and leaving bruises and ugly cuts all over his face. The tears rolling down his face accompanied the wounds well. While the pain registered, he didn’t let himself yell or scream.

He lost consciousness just before Frezza stabbed the sharp end of the fire poker through his throat, mangling his spine and killing him before anyone could come in and get the body.

* * *

He didn’t remember it being quite so bloody.

Quade glanced between him and the report, looking almost impressed.

“Why didn’t you fight back?” He still sounded cool, but he still came off like an awed child. DeBlanc shook his head.

“Apathy.” He felt weak admitting it, knowing that it’d bring immeasurable joy to Quade. Though, he wasn’t speaking as cruelly now. It was like he was truly fascinated by what happened to DeBlanc.

There was another silence, as Quade flipped through the papers, finding himself at the transcript of DeBlanc’s hell. He simply watched, wondering what Quade’s reaction would be. In the few times that hell had repeated, he’d tried his best to prevent the inevitable.

At first, his reaction to “sorry, no carry-ons” was to say goodbye to Fiore and push him away from the bus, letting it leave without him. But it made him cry, he ran after the bus and tried to throw his voice, yelling for DeBlanc to stop the bus and come back. None of the words were clear, he just knew that it truly hurt Fiore. He dropped to his knees after a certain point, and the bus trudged on, leaving the angel behind.

When DeBlanc turned away from the spectacle, his hell started over once more.

This one deviated when DeBlanc didn’t remove his hand from Fiore’s face. It stayed cupped on his cheek, and DeBlanc tried to make eye contact.

“Please look at me,” he spoke softly, and it elicited the right response. Fiore’s giant, reddened eyes looked up into DeBlanc’s, and he smiled gently. It was an unconscious response, Fiore didn’t like to smile. It always looked forced, unpracticed, like something he’d never really known how to do. Though, most angels had no concept of human emotions, and despite becoming a demon, DeBlanc hadn’t really tried to unlearn emotions, given that he didn’t have many in life.

But that awkward smile, lips tightening together and the corners of his mouth curling up just a bit, it made something in DeBlanc’s chest tighten. He ran his thumb along Fiore’s cheekbone, letting it travel up to his temple. It was hard for him to decide what to do next. He could tell Fiore to stay behind, deciding the last thing he’d ever see of Fiore would be his untrained smile and misty eyes. Another part of him wanted to warn him of what would happen next, but with the repetition of this same scene, he couldn’t remember what had happened after this.

He removed the hand, and the two filed onto the bus. The peace didn’t last. The Seraph had tracked them down, someone had given her mercy and now she returned, hundreds of Seraphs following her. They surrounded the bus, killing the bus driver before letting themselves on.

They grabbed Fiore, pulling him off of the bus before taking DeBlanc. The two were held down on their knees before the female Seraph, who offered a deal. She would either take Fiore back to Heaven and they wouldn’t be in trouble, or send both of them to Hell to spend the rest of eternity in the Hole.

DeBlanc offered anything to keep Fiore from being hurt, but he went unheard. The Seraph took Fiore, who tried to grab DeBlanc while they dragged him off. He was a few feet away, and soon, the Seraph was brandishing a large gun. She held it for a while, staring at it and examining it. She cocked it, and in one swift, fluid motion, she shot Fiore.

For a few moments he stayed upright on his knees, despite half of his head being blown off. DeBlanc felt everything stop, just for a moment, and Fiore crumbled to the ground. He didn’t notice when the Seraph came back to his side and shot him as well, he felt his eyes brimming with tears.

“DeBlanc?” A voice brought him out of remembering the simulation. His breath had hitched at some point, and now he felt his face heating up.

He didn’t expect a sliver of compassion from Quade, but there he was. He closed the file, sitting forward and giving DeBlanc a cold stare. The tension in the room settled into his shoulders like claws, and he couldn’t figure out how to stop himself from crying. It had been decades since DeBlanc had cried, he could only remember crying when he was a small child and he didn’t get what he wanted.

It had been a kind of revelation that Fiore actually made him feel again. Their trip on Earth had been littered with moments where DeBlanc could acknowledge that he truly did love Fiore, and it wasn’t just feeling obliged to stay with him because they had a child. He was confused by Fiore’s fascination with comics and junk food, but he truly admired how brightly-coloured drawings and overly-greasy crisps made him happy.

“Once you stop crying I’ll give you your punishment. Mannering authorised me to make the final decision.” Quade once again forced DeBlanc back into the bleak concrete room, and he managed to make the tears stop flowing. He wiped them away, cursing at himself for letting his emotions get the better of him.

For a moment, while Quade deliberated, DeBlanc looked out the window. Millions of small, flickering lights. Above, there’d be billions more, shining robustly through Hell’s dark core.

Quade set DeBlanc’s file down, and a distant alarm echoed from another cellblock. It didn’t concern him, and he stood. DeBlanc’s restraints loosened, the guard had come back in at some point. The guard took his aching arms and held them tightly behind his back.

“For your crimes against Heaven and Hell, I submit you to eternity in the Hole, with no chance of parole.” He said as DeBlanc was walked back to the Hole’s gaping maw. His toes hang just at the edge of the Hole, and the darkness goes on for miles.

The guard immediately pushed DeBlanc. He hit the ground sooner than he would have thought, and the simulation began the second the hatch was shut.

The first thing he saw, Fiore's saddened face, his eyes darting about the ground. DeBlanc watched for a while, but decided that wasn't the vision of Fiore he wanted to be left with. His hand once again raised to Fiore's cheek, cupping it and drawing his gaze to DeBlanc's. He knew this would only lead to another horrific end to the both of them, but he brought his other hand to Fiore's face. His awkward smile came back, lighting up his face and making DeBlanc smile. He pressed his forehead to Fiore's, and he felt pain in his chest.

“I'm sorry, my dear.” DeBlanc pulled himself away from Fiore, but he brought himself back in and kissed DeBlanc. It felt just as awful and strange as every kiss they'd ever shared, but it made that pain in his chest turn to swelling.

When the kiss ended, despite Fiore trying to bring him closer, he shut the bus doors, telling him he only wanted to keep him safe. At first, Fiore didn’t understand what was going on. He knocked on the doors, but soon the bus started creeping off. DeBlanc slowly made his way to the back, watching Fiore’s shape become smaller and smaller.

* * *

There came a point where DeBlanc tried to fight back during the repetitions. He’d say they didn’t need to go to Hell, he’d try to tell Fiore what would happen and why he couldn’t go. But every scenario ended with DeBlanc leaving Fiore behind, or Fiore dying. Every single scenario hurt him.

The simulations forced all of his pent-up emotions out, he started feeling his chest hurt when a simulation would start over and he’d see Fiore once again. Anxiety began to replace the pain.

There was no way to tell how long this lasted. It could have been hours, could have been days, and all he could do was sit, curled up in the Hole, unsure what he’d try to do this time. He’d exhausted so many of his options. And while he was fully aware that all of this was fake, there was a small part of him that believed every single simulation, trying to wear away at his certainty and make him believe that every horrific outcome had somehow happened.

DeBlanc eventually stopped trying in the simulations. The same scene, the real one, would play out, except now, a new ending was added. They’d get to Hell, DeBlanc would get shot, and Fiore would return to Earth, looking like he’d physically crawled back to the surface, misty-eyed.

He didn’t try to rationalise if it was real or not. He didn’t want to. He wouldn’t let himself waste more energy trying to come up with an answer.

“What about my comics?” Repeated once more, but in this simulation Fiore was bawling his blue saucer eyes out, and DeBlanc didn’t touch his face.

“Leave ‘em behind.” He spoke coldly, like the first time the two had met. It was hard to look back on how he treated Fiore, meaning the simulation was finally finding the perfect code to truly torture him.

Something high above grinds open, and whoever is moving the grinding object is putting all of their might into it. He doesn’t look up, even when he hears someone call to him. It’s a voice he doesn’t recognise, and he at first suspects everyone broke out of their cells.

That proves to be wrong when the room turns dark, the memory sputtering to a stop like a dying car engine. DeBlanc snaps himself out of a trance, looking up to find a small figure leaning down into the mouth of the Hole, holding out their arm.

“C’mon, we don’t have much time,” the figure has a high voice, with a similar accent to the preacher. He stands up, trying to hoist himself up by the figure’s arm and crawl up the side of the Hole. When he emerges and the relative brightness passes him, he finds his savior to be a bloodied woman.

She has scars and cuts scattered all over her face and visible skin, her hair is mussed around her head and her eyes burn. DeBlanc assumes her to be human, but she steals his question from him.

“You’re DeBlanc?” She locks her eyes with his, and he nods.

“Great, then we’re leavin’ now.” She gestures at him to follow her out. The two dash down the corridor connecting Block 934-D and 934-E, essentially ascending to the entrance.

* * *

 

It wasn’t until they were on another Distant Vistas bus, one with a new driver, that DeBlanc finally spoke one word to her.

“Who are you?” He asked her, his voice weak from prolonged silence. The bus hit a pothole, and the two jostled in their seat.

The woman was resting her head on her hand, looking out the window and watching their surroundings brighten as they approached the surface. She looked lost in thought. He had no idea what she was doing down in Hell, but he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly she did to get beat up like that but still live.

“Tulip. How long until we’re back home?” Her voice began slurring, like days of fatigue hit her all at once. She closed her heavy eyelids, and DeBlanc went back to sitting in silence.

The trip took at least another hour, they came to Earth’s surface within twenty minutes of Tulip falling asleep, and reached the bus stop within forty minutes of that. The field of stone blocks greeted them, illuminated by moonlight and glowing silver. The bus came to a sudden stop, and it jerked her awake. She looked around, first at the bus stop, then at the man sitting beside her. She took a second to stand back up, and DeBlanc stepped out of her way, letting her get off the bus first.

A person came out of the shadows to greet her, someone who placed their hand on her hip and kissed her a bit roughly, disregarding her split lip. DeBlanc only got a good look at him when he stepped off the bus. The preacher stood there, looking a bit serious now, like he was explaining something to her. He said something about the apocalypse, how they needed absolutely everyone they could get on their side, and that they needed to find Cassidy.

He soon tuned everything out when he saw another person step out of the darkness.

It didn’t take even a second for DeBlanc to recognise him.

He looked stiff and awkward at first, like he couldn’t process the sight before him. While DeBlanc was aching and weary and just wanted a proper rest, he shook all of his pain off for a brief moment.

Fiore came up to him, looking down at him and pulling his lips into a tight grin.

He would have said something sweet, but all he managed was pulling the gargantuan man into a tight embrace, feeling lanky arms wrap around him and compress him. He never was quite good at hugs, either.

DeBlanc’s cheek came to rest on Fiore’s chest, and it felt unreal. Maybe all of this had been another elaborate simulation, and in a few moments Fiore would be shot and collapse in DeBlanc’s arms. That worry uneased him, but he could still relax against the massive angel brush that worry off momentarily. He could grab him, hold him close, confirm that he truly was there, and that he’d made it out of Hell after all.

When the two disconnected, the preacher interjected something akin to “so Cass _wasn’t_ fucking with me.” Tulip grinned, and gestured again for the two to follow them.

DeBlanc had no real clue what was going on, but he decided he’d agree to whatever they asked of him, so long as Fiore was at his side.

**Author's Note:**

> so i was inspired by the season 3 episode descriptions on the preacher wiki, and i thought "why not diverge canon and just fix absolutely everything?" special thanks to muteraven from my discord for giving me inspiration for the title (while it may not directly relate to the story i like it and associate it with defiore now what are you gonna do?)


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